


Is This A Hug Yet?

by josywbu



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Fluff, Friday is also wrapped around Peter Parker's little finger, Gen, Hugs, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter really wants that hug, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, The Greatest Showman (mentioned), Tony Stark does too but he likes to act he's all tough, he's really not, i feel like this turns into a crack fic at some point, there's fool play in here too but ya know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 21:30:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18764620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josywbu/pseuds/josywbu
Summary: Peter just wants a hug and Tony just wants to look like he’s not completely wrapped around the kid’s little finger.or5 times it wasn’t a hug and the 1 time it was





	Is This A Hug Yet?

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was Ambush Hug - “It's a week after the events of Homecoming and the first time Peter comes and spend the weekend with Tony. After an eventful Friday night of bonding and working together in the lab until Saturday afternoon, Peter is in his room doing his homework. Tony comes to look for him to tell him dinner is ready but can't find him. He doesn't know Peter has a habit of doing homework on the ceiling. Peter times it perfectly and jumps into Tony's arms (who catches him) and sneaks in a hug. Tony” (arrow-shadowwolf)
> 
> This might've turned into a crack fic halfway through. Oopsie. Hope you enjoy.

**i.**

“Is this a hug yet?”

Peter blinks up innocently from where his mentor is holding him flush against his chest. The older man’s heart rate is accelerated, his warm chest shrinking and unfolding irregularly against Peter’s own as he holds him in place with two strong, steady arms.

He flutters his eyelashes when Mister Stark just looks at him without saying a word, face schooled into a passive façade that gives nothing away. A very self-conscious part of him is starting to regret the words more with every passing second.

After another moment, in which Mister Stark’s heart rate and breathing even out slowly, a sigh follows the silence, sounding less annoyed and more fond. His mentor’s face relaxes, eyes soft and welcoming. It settles Peter’s own racing heart.

“No, I don’t think this counts,” is the final reply and he grins when the corners of Mister Stark’s lips quirk upwards ever so slightly and the crow’s feet wrinkles around his eyes deepen.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs and extracts himself from the man’s hold.

He doesn’t disagree either, it _was_ more a save than a hug if he is being honest. He tripped over his own feet the second he set foot into the bigger than life penthouse and hadn’t it been for the billionaire’s quick reflexes, he would’ve face planted into the floor.

It was, admittedly, not one of his finest moments but it did end him up in an almost hug and with a warm smile, so he isn’t too worried about his clumsiness just then.

“We have all weekend,” he adds and straightens again, brushing invisible dirt from his hoodie and taking a step back to look at the awing room again, “and one of these days…”

He lets the unfinished sentence hang in the air like a threat or a promise or maybe both. It feels exciting and daring and the hair ruffle he gets in return makes him grow at least three inches in height.

Come Sunday he’d get that hug. One way or the other.

 

 

**ii.**

This is… decidedly less comfortable than he expected.

Not that he expected slamming into a suit made of a gold titanium alloy at high speed while dropping down several stories to be very comfortable but still.

He squirms in Iron-Man’s grip until he can see more than the suit of armor that is holding him tightly against the hard chest plate, ignoring Mister Stark’s terse orders to ‘ _keep the heck still’_ over the comm. If he gets to fly – actually _fly_ and not swing – across New York he wants to at least take in the view.

“That was awesome!” he exclaims once he has gotten his bearings together.

Realizing he must sound like a little child who’d just gotten candy for the first time he tries to school his voice into a more indifferent tone. “I mean. That was a very inconvenient situation, thank you for catching me. I hope it never happens again.”

When Mister Stark’s voice sounds through his mask next, he can make out the smirk in his voice and he doesn’t have to see his face to know he’s rolling his eyes. “You can be excited about flying, kid. Lord knows I was when I took Mark II for its first ride.”

“I am _so_ excited. Like, more excited than I was for the new Star Wars trilogy. More excited than I am for the Lego Hogwarts set. More excited than –“

His rambling gets interrupted with exasperated fondness. “You like flying and you’re a nerd, yeah, I got the memo, kiddie.”

“Woo Hoo,” he yells out experimentally, grinning widely when the sound echoes back at him. “Does this count as a hug, Mister Stark? ‘Cause it’d be a very special one.”

The older man laughs but doesn’t reply, instead he drops down suddenly only catching the suit at the last second before they hit the ground and shoots upwards to go into a looping. Peter can’t help the joyful cheer that leaves his lips at the pulling in his stomach and he giggles with glee, leaning back into his mentor’s hold and enjoying the ride.

No matter the acrobatics, the flight never wavers and Peter hopes intently that Mister Stark knows how safe he’s feeling despite being a couple hundred meters high in the air, having no web fluid to fall back on to and with only two arms keeping him from plummeting down to his demise. He doesn’t worry at all, he knows nothing can happen to him here.

 

 

**iii.**

“Not a hug.”

Peter scoffs, taking the screwdriver from the engineer and pats the man’s back experimentally. The fabric of the worn Metallica shirt is incredibly soft and he’d love nothing more than to hold onto it some more.

“I mean you totally just stepped into my open arms to hand me something but okay, whatever floats your boat.”

Mister Stark rolls his eyes and says: “I don’t appreciate the sass” in a voice that directly contradicts his statement.

“What counts as a hug anyway?” he ponders with a grin, taking a step back to throw the screwdriver in the air and catch it again without threatening his mentor’s eyesight, “I feel like we should find a common ground on that. F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“The Oxford dictionary defines a hug as an act of holding someone tightly in one's arms, typically to express affection. The word originated in the mid-16th century, most likely in Scandinavia, and is related to the Norwegian hugga which means ‘comfort, console’.”

“See,” Mister Stark seems pleased with the statement and claps his hands together, managing to make an even bigger mess of the motor oil staining them, “I don’t express affection. You can ask anyone.”

Something about this feels like an opening, like a trial run to _more_ and Peter Parker is nothing but someone who dives into opportunities like these head first, only thinking about the consequences afterwards.

A smile plays around his lips as he asks again, while holding the older man’s gaze, “F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

The A.I. doesn’t respond in words, instead the whole lab is suddenly filled with blue glowing holograms of a life’s worth of pictures and videos and letters and e-mails. Above it all like a headline float the word _Proof That Tony Stark Has A Heart_ like the title to a sappy origin story.

There are old pictures with his mum, videos and pictures with Colonel Rhodes through several decades of friendship, articles in newspapers he’s never seen before. There’s his engagement announcement with Miss Potts, a truck load of pictures of them including a huge stuffed rabbit, and some receipt for a potato gun and lab equipment in Tennessee.

Peter’s eyes, though, are stuck to the small section featuring him.

 _Good work in D.C._ and _Good job, kid_ and _I’m just grabbing the door for you_ and _With a little more mentoring you could be a real asset to the team_ and _I like the kid, I want you to invite the kid_. There’s hours and hours worth of programming for his suit, there’s schematics and scribbled notes and a list of his favorite snacks and drinks.

“You were saying?” he asks smugly as his heart summersaults in his chest.

 

 

**iv.**

It’s late evening on Saturday and they’re both in the kitchen to get a snack in before bed. (Although from the way the billionaire is hogging the coffee machine he suspects Mister Stark isn’t really going to go to sleep after this.)

Peter is already in his pajamas and slumped over the kitchen counter, his socked feet dangling in the air from the barstool he’s sitting on. He has coupled the Hello Kitty sweatpants with a worn t-shirt that’s almost too narrow in the shoulders now but that he can’t bring himself to give away.

He’s undeniably comfortable. More so than he could’ve hoped to be when Happy picked him up on Friday after school and just the fact that they have come so far makes his heart soar with happiness. Maybe this is something he can hold onto. Maybe this is something he is allowed to have.

A yawn pulls him from his thoughts and he can see Mister Stark perk up at the sound and look away from the stove to zero in on him, eyes narrowed.

“You alright, squirt?” he asks, eyeing him skeptically as if he expects Peter to spontaneously combust under his care.

“Yup,” he pops the p and stifles another yawn, “Just tired. And hungry,” he adds when his stomach decides to join the party with a loud growl. He gives a lopsided grin that his mentor returns with a smirk, eyes gentle.

“Cold, too?”

“Maybe a little?” He rubs his hands over his upper arms sheepishly. “But it’s not that bad, I’m – No-“ he stares at his mentor in disbelief who has started slipping out of his hoodie before Peter has a chance to complain and throws it at his head. “You really don’t have to do that,” he says, frowning at the piece of clothing in his hands.

“Well, I did do it,” the man replies with a roll of his eyes before turning away and going back to stirring in the pot. “Now put that on and drink your herbal tea. The oatmeal is almost done. You want a banana in there?”

Peter pulls the hoodie over his head, immediately sinking into the feeling of safety the smell and the softness provide.

There’s something sacred about getting to wear someone else’s clothes, he thinks. It’s something his uncle used to let him do whenever he would be away for a few days or when Peter couldn’t sleep. There’s a faint hint of Mister Stark’s cologne clinging to the sweater, as well as the smell of motor-oil and sweat and something he can’t quite put his finger on but that just screams _protected_.

“I still think it’s weird you had F.R.I.D.A.Y. look up what teenagers should eat before bed,” he complains once he’s cuddled into the cloth and has pushed the sleeves up to reach for his cup of tea.

“Yeah, well, boo hoo, kiddie.” Mister Stark puts down the bowl in front of him, pushing a spoon into his hand. “I remember someone not telling me they couldn’t sleep so last night now we’re here. Eat up.” It’s a gruff order but, like with everything the engineer does, fondness is shining through deliberately to take the bite from his words.

“Uh, Mister Stark,” he perks up suddenly when his mentor has turned away again, an idea popping into his mind. “You’ve, uh, you’ve got something on your back.” He jumps off the bar stool and skitters to a halt in front of the man on his fuzzy socks.

Too surprised to actually do anything while Peter reaches around him to get whatever is supposedly on his back, Mister Stark lets him hug him around the middle and dart away again in the blink of an eye, laughing almost manically.

“Parker!”

“Mister Stark,” he grins through a bite of oatmeal.

All he gets in return his an exasperated shake of his head. “Not a hug. Eat your damn oatmeal, kid.”

It doesn’t really matter, though, because as he’s devouring the food under Mister Stark’s watchful gaze, is mentor’s smell is clinging to him and the hoodie fills like a hug in and of itself.

 

 

**v.**

Turns out getting bitten by a radioactive spider has changed quite a few aspects of Peter’s life.

The fact, for example, that he can now go through gym classes without breaking a sweat, has to eat almost constantly to not pass out or the tiny little detail that he goes out as a superhero in his free time.

One thing that he hasn’t realized he has been doing until giving May a heart attack just a few days earlier is that he feels increasingly comfortable on the ceiling. It doesn’t really matter whether he’s just pacing while video chatting Ned or laying there, browsing on his phone, or doing his homework up there like he is doing right now.

He’s absentmindedly gnawing on his pencil over his essay about Buddhism in media when he hears Mister Stark approach his room.

The man’s humming a song from _The Greatest Showman_ which has been stuck in his head ever since breakfast when Peter decided to play the whole soundtrack on repeat. Despite how annoyed his mentor tries to seem about it, he has caught him drumming along to _The Greatest Show_ on the third playing.

With a grin he slips out his phone and silently swipes around until he finds the part he wants to play before putting it back, dropping both pencil and notebook to his bed and bringing himself in position.

_Don't fight it, it's coming for you, running at ya, It's only this moment, don't care what comes after, It's blinding, outshining anything that you know, Just surrender 'cause you're calling and you wanna go_

“Lunch’s ready for Spider- Bab – are you _still_ listening to that?”

Mister Stark has reached his room now and, poking his head through, calls for Peter when he can’t find him in it.

The chorus is covering up all sounds the billionaire might’ve heard from Peter moving quietly on the ceiling, positioning himself right above the searching man who has taken another step into the room, effectively sealing his fate.

In a swift movement, Peter turns slightly and drops down right into his mentor’s arms who clings to him almost instinctually, letting out a very unmanly screech that gets lost in Peter’s singing.

“It's everything you ever waaant, It's everything you ever neeeed,  And it's here right in front of youuu, this is where you wanna be –that was supposed to be your part, Mister Stark!”

He’s cackling now, wriggling in the older man’s grip who’s promising to drop him to the floor only to let out a string of choice words when he realizes he can’t.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” he demands sternly, “Quit using your sticky powers on me right this second.”

 

 

**vi.**

Contrary to what Mister Stark promised after he had to walk a singing teenager all the way to the kitchen to feed him, he does not push Peter off on Happy when it’s time for him to go home. If anything Peter feels like the man might even be enjoying the small trip just the two of them. (Even though The Greatest Showman is strictly banned from the car much to Peter’s chagrin.)

“So, you have a nice time, kid?”

In answer he bobs his head to the soft rock music that is traveling through the car’s surround sound system. His feet are propped up on the dashboard and he’s twisted in his seat so he can get a good look at his mentor who’s dividing his time between looking at the road and chastising Peter about proper sitting in a car.

It’s missing any real heat, though, and at some point he thinks it just becomes the thing for him to get hung up on to have something to talk about.

“Finished all your homework?”

“Yup.” He leans his head back and let’s his eyes flutter close, enjoying the warmth of the sun through the windshield. “I think using your dad’s old diaries really gave my essay about life during WW II an edge. Think my teacher’ll like it. He’s a fan.” He yawns and not a second later feels his mentor shift to brush a few pesky curls away from his forehead.

“Is he now?” He sounds half amused, half bitter.

“Yeah,” Peter shrugs, “But I told him that you’re cooler than your dad anyway. Wrote an essay about that once, too.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Even without looking he knows the man’s smiling that fond smile he likes to hide so much.

He just hums uncommitedly and lets the music and the movement and the even heartbeat next to him lull him into a state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

Before he really has time to register it, Mister Stark is already pulling up on the curb in front of his apartment and is harassing him awake and asking if he really hasn’t forgotten anything.

To his surprise his mentor actually slips out of the car at the same time he does and walks around to him, hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans slightly awkwardly as he’s swaying back and forth on the ball of his feet just the slightest bit.

“So, uh,” Peter starts, unsure of where to go from here and of what to expect, “I guess I’ll see you around?”

That earns him a laugh from the billionaire and in the blink of an eye he is being pulled into a hug. Rough calloused fingers ruffle his hair and a gruff voice that he could swear sounds emotional is in his ear.

“Yeah, I’ll see you around, squirt. Happy’ll pick you up Wednesday and bring you to the Tower for some lab work. Already talked to your aunt about it. You just gotta make sure you tell her you had a good time, alright? Or she might decapitate me after all. Or worse.”

Peter’s body is shaking with laughter and he wraps his arms around his mentor’s waist. “I’ll miss you, too, Mister Stark,” he says, voice muffled into the older man’s shirt, “Thank you for the awesome weekend.”

And when he turns around with one last wave to climb up the front steps he can’t help but cheer inwardly.

_Told ya, he’d get that hug._

**Author's Note:**

> part iv was inspired by [this awesome comic](https://howdoiurlwhatdoesthismean.tumblr.com/post/180918892191/whether-it-be-through-deception-or-other-means) by [howdoiurlwhatdoesthismean](https://howdoiurlwhatdoesthismean.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Be sure to check that out (:
> 
> Also, whoop, this is my first fic from Nashville so yay me for reaching that milestone!


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